


Me, I'm Not

by ikoliholic



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodlust, Canon Compliant, Dark Thor, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feels, M/M, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pseudo-Incest, Vampires, also see:, y'know.....kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikoliholic/pseuds/ikoliholic
Summary: Drinking on Midgard, alone, and still grieving Loki’s death, Thor is told of a strange and secretive soul who bears resemblance to his brother. Curiosity gets the better of him...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. This one’s been in the “written but needs a final edit” folder for a loooong time. Expect vague kink, suicidal tendencies, nsfw ‘wish-you-were-my-brother’ fucking, and of course, my old favourite — Angst City. 
> 
> Set after Thor: The Dark World, but before Avengers AoU.
> 
> You don’t need to have watched Only Lovers Left Alive, but your life (and this fic) will be generally enhanced if you do ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Thor feels Mjolnir’s magic tingle where it rests by his side. He ignores its thrum, consumes yet another beverage at the tasteless Midgardian drinking establishment instead. The location is quite a way from Manhattan— an American city named Detroit, of which Thor is unfamiliar with. Recommended to him by Tony, of course: _Great booze. Even better dancers. Celebrities everywhere, but never will you ever see a single photo online or in the magazines. No matter how lewd it gets. Too seedy, out of the way, y’know? I um… don’t go there anymore. Pepper’s orders. Unless she’s uh, feeling frisky…_

To tell the truth, Thor did not care for the female dancers around him. Sure they’re undeniably beautiful, exotically clad with colourful fake-jewels and feathers and embellished fabrics over their smooth, faultless bodies, most naked and _all_ of them sultry; but where was the chase? The thrill? The willing bond between two beings, sexual— _emotional_? He did not understand it. Perhaps though, if he were a younger, more foolish male, he would understand the appeal on at least some level.

He certainly remembers such feelings from his own youth that carried the sentiment _look, but don’t touch_. It’s just that it was never directed towards the whorehouses of Asgard, of which there are many— despite its faultless moral reputation.

He harboured an everlong and _different_ vice, so tempting to indulge. Dangerous.

His brother.

But now his brother is dead, body buried under the ravages of Svartelheim’s storms. Somewhere long forgotten. _At least with honour_ , Thor remembers when the vice resurfaces, becomes too much in his mind.

But that does not sate the dreams he has at night; often horrifically violent and sometimes erotically charged.

Thor could never fully articulate the feelings he had for Loki when he was alive, less still now that he is most certainly dead. Not even to himself, never mind anyone else. It pains him to be unable to explain his emotions, as so honest is his heart. It hurts in ways unimaginable.

And so here he is, alone in a club, aroused once again at thoughts of his dead brother.

Perhaps adding a half a hip flask of purest Alfheim alcohol to that last tankard of beer _had_ been a mistake. He feels genuinely inebriated, though not completely lost of his wits. Enough still to allow himself to think thoughts that honour would suppress in daylight hours, or if he was with Jane.

Jane is very busy. They scarcely see one another. It’s funny, because Thor had thought that he would spend every waking moment possible with her during her relatively short lifespan. He is not bitter that she often chooses other pursuits over him, nor would he go back to Asgard now with a tail betwixt his legs. Perhaps soon the so-called ‘media buzz’ around her genius will subside Thor convinces himself on lonelier days.

For now, he busies himself with other things. Spending time with his Midgardian friends. Learning the ways of Earth, the strange customs and varying cultures. He seeks to experience new things. It is too late now to spend time with Loki. It is too late now to discover the taste of Loki’s cock, so perhaps he could, while drunk and in such an establishment, seek to sample masculinity in another form. Surely there would be men here willing to have a dalliance with the Mighty Thor? Tony had spoken of discretion being a top priority in this place, but he’d made no mention of men, concentrating on scantily clad women alone. Thor knows that as in Asgard, homosexual relations can be met with varying levels of acceptance across this world…

And besides, he should be remain loyal to Jane. It is right.

Mjolnir’s magic crackles at his side again; as though she is giving a warning to her wielder— though of what Thor is not sure.

Suddenly, there’s a woman invading his personal space. Very attractive, although a little too thin, as though she may deprive herself of at least one meal a day that she should be heartily eating. And half-nude, of course. Unlike most of the others, her _rather humungous_ breasts are well covered, but her midriff is showing— along with slender, long legs and bare arms clad only with some silver bangles and a peppering of pretty multicoloured rings. Her ears are covered with silver piercings, as well as one on her lip, and nose. She smiles with teeth that are too dazzlingly white, and her dark auburn hair is coarse and wild all around her face, green eyes accentuated by black kohl.

“Are you _Thor_?” She asks, starstruck. “Like, the _actual_ Thor?”

Thor smiles. During his more arrogant days, he continues to enjoy fame here when it is granted. “I certainly am.”

“Would you like a dance?” She asks, twirling her hair subconsciously. “Totally free! I’m uh, not supposed to say that I think…but for _you_ … oh my god.”

Thor smiles kindly at her. Despite the fact she is a little whoreish, she seems to have a kind air about her. “What is your name, lady?”

“Well, you’re totally gonna think I’m making this up, but I swear I’m not…” She starts. “My name is Jane. McGuire. I’m new here. We’re not supposed to approach anybody, but I just _had_ to….”

“Well, I must confess to you, Ms. McGuire, that already I have a Jane of my own.”

“I know,” she giggles, mumbling, “she’s damn _hot_. And please, call me Jane too.” She pauses before speaking again. “Can I ask why…” her voice tails off and her eyebrows raise.

Ah. “I am only here for the beverages and not much else other than curiosity,” Thor replies. “But I would pay handsomely for you to sit with me and take my mind off things.”

Jane cocks an eyebrow. “So just to clarify…you _don’t_ want a free lap dance?”

Thor laughs. “Not quite, Lady Jane. Though I thank you for the offer.”

“My god, you really _are_ as chivalrous as they say,” she observes, with wonder as well as comedy in her voice. Her way reminds Thor a little of Darcy, though much less annoying of course.

“Come, sit with me,” he affirms. “Are you from this place?”

“Yeah,” Jane says, twisting her ankle around, pleased for the respite from ridiculously high-heeled shoes. “Detroit born and raised.”

“Tell me about it.”

And she does. Over a cocktail named Long Island Iced Tea, she tells Thor of growing up, her parents scrimping and saving for her to go to college, moving to New York for a PR job, her dreams shattered by the Battle in a matter of weeks. Moving back home, because she had no other choice. Losing another job. Thinking of other assets she could use…

“Did he pay for his crimes?” she implores after a while, bold from further alcohol. Talking about Loki, of course.

“He paid with imprisonment, and he suffered with our mother’s death,” Thor says easily — as though speaking to his oldest friend. He finishes the remnants of his drink before he regretfully speaks again. “And now _he_ is dead too.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She curls her lip as if about to speak, then takes a gulp of her drink instead.

“I thank you,” Thor sighs, thoughtful. “I know that he inflicted much wrong upon this world, but I still loved him. I did not tell him often enough, I fear. I wish I could see his face once more, so that I could tell him how I felt.” Thor downs the rest of his drink at the confession.

It was all too easy to talk to a kind stranger.

Hesitating again, Jane McGuire repeats the motion of drinking, with the gentlest shake of her head as she swallows, running tongue across her teeth before she finally concedes and speaks her mind. “There’s a rumour, right. One of my friends told me about it, but I’ve never seen it for myself—but—um…”

“What?”

Jane continues, voice low and secretive, inappropriately lewd smile creeping on her features. “Well, there was talk a while back in the underground music scene here. That there’s some genius guy who lives downtown.”

“Downtown?”

“Yeah. Downtown. In an old abandoned house… who’s like… the ultimate Loki doppelgänger.”

“Doppelgänger?” Thor’s head spins with confusion and alcohol.

“Somebody who looks and talks exactly like somebody else,” Jane says. “You don’t have that in Asgard?”

And now Thor’s stomach turns too, as he ignores her question. It _could not_ be. “Have you seen this?” he asks, voice suddenly gravelly. “Have you proof?”

She cackles at this, eyes glassy from alcohol. “I ain’t seen shit! Was my buddy. Yeah. My friend saw him at a club once, took a snap of him. Here, look.” She gets her phone out of tiny little silver hot pants and scrolls across the screen for a few minutes before she shows him a picture. Wavy hair and sunglasses aside, it was an uncanny likeness to his brother, no doubt. “That was taken months ago, though. He’s never been seen again.” She hiccups and mumbles, “Not even s’posed to have my cell on me, ha!”

“Where is this house?” Thor says, trying to sound more nonchalant this time.

“Apparently it’s some remote part of town, I dunno. I’d never go near there for fear of being raped or murdered or dropped in an acid bath, or some shit.” Jane laughs, but the fear in her eyes is all too real. “Mind you, ain’t nobody gonna rape or murder you, are they?! Unless they got roofies the size of lightbulbs, man.” She slurps at the last of her drink before looking mortified. “Sorry, that’s not even funny. God, I am _so_ fired.”

Thor makes a decision. His voice becomes clear and even. “My brother is dead, Lady Jane. I was merely curious of the tale, and I wish not to visit anywhere less comely than this place for any such _doppelgänger_.” Thor nods his head firmly. Such supposition would only lead to trouble.

“Cool.” Jane says, changing the subject without a single thought. “So, tell me about Steve Rogers. Is he like, as cut as you? I heard he can lift a whole truck above his head…”

They talk for another hour or so, and all the while Thor cannot get the so-called doppelgänger _quite_ from the back of his mind.

Lady Jane McGuire then stands up unannounced. “Listen, it’s past 1am. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my job, and I _know_ I’ve drunk _way_ too many Long Islands. Before I throw up on you, or myself, and wanna die from shame and regret…Imma go home, ‘kay?”

Thor walks her out of the club and offers her all of the money he has on his person, true to his word. This young woman had mostly managed to distract him from his own dark thoughts for the past three hours. She smiles, drunken and fuzzy. “No way dude, you keep it! The stories I can tell ‘bout the Mighty Thor being a gent and buying me a load of cocktails _and_ ‘bout me getting fired from my seedy strip club job on the first night ‘cos of it?! That’s damn payment enough.”

He kisses her hand, and she cackles. “Ahaha! And now that too! See ya. Thanks for not being a jackass, Odinson.”

“Farewell, Lady Jane.” Thor smiles and watches the cab drive off, looking at the PR business card she had handed him earlier. Perhaps there would be a job for her within some division of the Avengers, if she wished to return to New York. She certainly had spirit enough.

He turns to face the club again, but then decides that he has drunk quite enough. The benefits of the cathartic conversation wears off almost immediately, and Thor finds that without distraction, he has a thirst for something else.

He sips from his flask, and gravel crunches beneath his feet.

***

The house is easy for him to find with sharp warrior skills and Mjolnir at his side. Still crackling, the hammer is. Stronger now. Danger is close.

He notices the remnants of police tape dangling from various parts around the building, gently swaying in the breeze of the night. If there was ever awareness of any unlawful trouble here, it was long forgotten about now.

Thor is drunk, but he manages to be silent and light on his feet as he breaks into the rear window of the house, landing to the floor gracefully. He can feel an odd presence about the place. It is not —simply _cannot_ be— Loki’s magic, but it bores a similar resemblance. Definitely something that does not belong to the mortal world prickles at these dilapidated walls. Though this does not put Thor off further exploration; it only further incites his curiosity as he gently makes his way up the stairs. The further he gets, the louder the sound of music becomes. It is unusual music, oddly beautiful.

Thor is not fully acquainted with the plethora of _genre_ available through Midgard’s music, but he would say that this would combine multiple elements. Heavy electric guitars, slow and sultry in tone and pace; combined with more delicate strings that sound hollow and torturously sad.

The door is cracked half open already, so Thor looks through it.

What he sees defies belief.

There stands Loki —or an almost identical approximation of— topless and oblivious, guitar wrapped around his thin frame, utterly lost in music. It _cannot_ be Loki, for Loki had died in his arms on Svartelheim; Thor had _felt_ it. His brother was dead. Wasn’t he?

Thor watches but for a moment. He has already decided what he will do. Within a fraction of a second, this so-called _doppelgänger_ is under his vicious grip, pinned against a wall.

“Liesmith!” he shouts, blue eyes ablaze. “You had died in my arms!”

His brother’s face glares back at him, caught off guard, body entangled in electrical wires. He feels strong beneath Thor’s weight, but not strong enough. His eyes are beautiful, though there is something amiss.

“What the _fuck_ —”

Oh, but his voice was identical.

Thor shivers; he had thought never to hear it again. “Trickster!” he roars again, shaking the body beneath him. “Treacherous _liar_. The _truth_ , Loki.”

“Who the hell is Loki?” this monster growls, teeth bared to reveal sharp fangs. “And who the hell are you?” he demands, “Tell me, or I will drink you dry.”

“You are in no position to make threats, brother.” Thor shakes his shoulders. “I would know what transpired.”

“Don’t think I won’t drink you, _zombie_.” The monster opens his mouth wider still, _enraged_ , but then it’s as though something within him breaks. Thor watches as tears fill his eyes, jaw working from slack to tight. “I didn’t lay a finger on Ian, damnit! He was my friend.”

“ _What_?”

Then, the monster of a _doppelgänger_ starts crying. “I’ve lost everything — the love of my life, my very _reason_ for life. Oh sweet Eve, I’ll never forgive myself…” Thor lets go then, because though Loki is an expert trickster, even he cannot con this proficiently. Besides, Loki is never nonsensical with his stories — just his emotions.

The monster slides down the wall to the floor before he speaks again, voice tragically sad. “I returned here because it’s the only place that’s ever _remotely_ felt like a home.” His eyes narrow. “But it’s not the same. So if you’ve come to murder me, Blondie, there’s a wooden bullet somewhere in the bedroom that I’m yet too cowardly to pierce into my own heart.

“You bear a frightening resemblance to my brother,” Thor says, studying the creature’s face in fascination and ignoring his woeful lamentations. “Who _are_ you?”

Blue-green eyes flash upwards to meet his in a blaze of emotion. “I am Adam,” he says, matter-of-fact. “How the hell did you find me out here?”

“Intuition,” Thor brags, “I am not born of these parts, you see.”

Adam laughs. “A zombie’s a zombie.” He looks Thor up and down with an assessing face that makes Thor shudder with its familiarity. “But that’s besides the point. What’s _your_ name?”

“Thor Odinson.”

“Thor,” he laughs, “as in, the _Norse Mythology Thor_ I read in a book, about four hundred years ago?”

Thor nods proudly. “I am of Asgard, yes.”

Adam is silent for a long moment, and then he laughs. He laughs manically, as though he has not laughed for centuries on end, and it bubbles still in his throat when he eventually finds enough sense to respond with words.

“I don’t believe that for even one second, _Thor_. Now. _Tell me_.” He bares his teeth again, wicked and sharp, and Thor feels the air about them change shape a little. “How did you find me?”

Thor’s senses feel — not weakened as such, but somehow _piqued_ with a sexual energy, not dissimilar to the way he had felt earlier on in the evening when drinking alone. In this, Thor finds himself sliding down beside Adam, close, fascinated.

“Forgive me, _Thor_ , but I am so very thirsty. And you have offered yourself on a platter.” A thin, pale hand traces wayward blonde hairs from Thor’s face. “Mmm. You smell pure. So _virile_. I promise I will only turn you.” And then, Adam is at his throat; all slickly soft his tongue is. Thor startles at the sensation, gasping as the oddly cool mouth slides over his skin.

_Like a frost giant’s tongue may feel,_ he doesn’t drunkenly think. Then, he cries out as Adam bites down, _hard_ , almost piercing flesh with his sharpened teeth. Thor throws him off with instinct, and the air around them shifts once more as Adam hits the opposite wall with zero grace, knocking over a lamp and a pile of books in the process. He stands up, assessing Thor, who remains prone for conflict but oddly frozen, Mjolnir in one hand while the other strokes his recently-injured throat.

“What the hell _are_ you?” the creature says, cupping his own jaw defensively.

“I have told you this already. I am Thor.”

Adam quirks his eyebrow before coming to a decision. “You’re… not a zombie.”

“I do not know what a zombie is,” Thor admits, brow furrowed and still wary, “but I _can_ tell you that I am not mortal. So if they are the poor unsuspecting creatures whom you would usually use this sorcery of seduction upon—”

Adam moves with frightening fast speed then — across the room in a fraction of a second — but he’s still not quick enough to evade Mjolnir’s ready swing, and he is hurtled back from whence he came. Except now, he’s pinned to the wall by the hammer’s magical heft instead of Thor’s strength alone.

“I think _you_ could be a trick of my brother’s creation,” Thor says, standing up and offering _his_ assessing look as Adam bares his fangs once more and fruitlessly scrabbles in an attempt to evade the unparalleled weight of the hammer against his ribcage. “Perhaps even from beyond the grave.”

“ _Why_?” he spits. “Does your brother often suck at your neck in such a pleasingly incestuous manner?” he growls and goads, giving up the struggle with a pout to his lips, now flushed crimson red. “I may be many things, _Mighty Thor_ , but a liar isn’t one of them. I haven’t a clue who your damned _brother_ is, other than reading about him in a story centuries ago; less still why you think I look like him.”

“Do you think yourself a monster?” Thor glares. There is a sadness to Adam, and that _is_ like looking at his brother. “Do you?”

He scowls again. “I think the world around me is _full_ of monsters, but I am not one of them. Do _you_?”

“I am unsure,” Thor says, honestly. He really _doesn’t_ know what’s going on, and he fears that it may not have been the best evening to have consumed so much toxic alcohol. Still though, he finishes what remains of the Alfheim flask, offering Adam some of it, because surely it cannot get further strange.

Adam refuses. “I drink only one type of drink,” he says, mocking in tone, “and it seems you don’t have it to give.”

Thor sits on the sofa and stares at him for a while, and soon enough he is drunk enough and foolish enough to harbour the thoughts he’d pitted in his belly from the hours before.

In the end, the decision isn’t nearly half as difficult as Thor would like to believe. It has been a long time since he has given into base urges, acted for himself alone.

He throws the empty flask to the floor. Walks over to Adam, strokes his face with the back of his hand before considering the burning question on his tongue, low and sultry.

He would do this.

“Do you enjoy sexual congress, Adam?”

The creature’s stare is unblinking. “I enjoy _nothing_ in life anymore, save for music.”

“Perhaps I would change your mind,” Thor says and tears the tattered, perhaps once-plush burgundy velvet dressing robe he finds on the bed to pieces, gagging the creature with it. He struggles little, under Mjolnir’s vice-like grip. Like he has given up on everything already.

Thor binds his wrists anyway, just to be certain. Tight and unforgiving.

Despite Thor’s ministrations on his body, Adam does not grow hard beneath any touch, no matter how kind — or how _unkind_. The bulge in his leather trousers remains impressive, but not erect. In Thor’s drunken arrogance, this brings him to a conclusion that had been burning in the back of his mind all the while.

“You are a seeker of blood,” he says, nonchalant, pulling away. “We have them mentioned even in our myths and legend, though they do not hail from Asgard itself.”

Adam’s silence he takes as admission. Thor stills for a moment before making another decision. He starts to scour the room, making his way through cupboards and drawers and crevices, feeling Adam’s watchful eye as he does so. It reminds him of when he used to touch Loki’s possessions.

Oh, how Loki used to go _wild_ at him…

Eventually, he finds a razor sharp knife, and walks back to the vampiric creature. He pulls the fabric of the gag open a little, tips Adam’s head back so it gently thumps the wall. “Very well. We would come to a silent agreement.”

Adam inhales sharply, but he still does not speak around the material. Doesn’t even _flinch_. Thor raises the knife, and looks at the eyes of his brother in another’s body as the blade glints in the air. Then, he raises his other hand out to match it; pricking his left index finger with the tip of the knife. He watches the expression on Adam’s face turn to pure pleasure, pupils dilated and eyes rolling to the back of his head as Thor allows the blood to drip from finger into his throat. His eyes droop closed and he moans, a delightful sound that makes Thor think of Loki again in ways impossible.

When Adam’s eyes flutter open again, they look positively depraved. Thor looks down and notes now —a hard, tempting line visible through Adam’s garments— how his body’s willing and ready; it has been fed with that which it craved. Thor cups the erection with a greedy hand while Adam keens and whimpers.

After further teasing, Thor finally unzips the leather trousers, peels them down trembling thighs. Thor removes his own clothes then, slowly, as though it were a strip tease. He unbuttons his red shirt without taking his eyes off of Adam. When Thor unzips his own trousers, erection springing free, Adam’s breath is harsh through his nostrils.

“You seem oddly moral for a vampire,” Thor notes. “Can I be sure that if I release you, you would not break my skin and turn me into such a depraved creature?”

Adam nods his head voraciously, whimpering again. Thor considers this.

“In the last years of his life, I never could quite trust my brother, despite how much I wanted to. I suppose that means I should think the same of you. Forgive me, then.”

In a tight grip, Thor pulls Mjolnir away and wrestles Adam flush with his body; he goes in pursuit of a more appropriate room. If this is to really happen, he would do it properly.

He finds the bedroom within moments, and for all the wreck that the previous room was, this one is decadent and quite lovely. All dark, sumptuous colours and furnishings. Clearly, the creature had certain priorities. Thor smirks, drags him to the beautiful, ornate mahogany bed, placing Mjolnir atop his chest once more. Taking pity on the thin, starved frame, he seeks the knife again and makes a slice in the same finger as before — only this time, the blood does not drip, it freely trickles from a deeper slice, and Thor probes his still-oozing finger into the still-gagged mouth.

Adam almost chokes on the amount of blood, and his skin seems to shimmer from it, luminescent under the dim, flickering chandelier above. Perhaps it’s because the blood derives from such fine origins, or perhaps it is because he is starved. Whatever the reason, Thor is rapt as he watches the ecstasy-riddled creature writhe around, clinging at the covers as though his life depended on it.

When he calms a little, Thor turns him around, pulls him _down_ the bed, and places Mjolnir atop his back. In this position Thor feels unthreatened by fangs, so he takes pity and unwinds the blood-stained fabric from Adam’s mouth. A thousand curses fall from his tongue, sounding all-too similar to Loki.

“You fucking, you, you, oh _fuck_ —” the insults turn to lead on his tongue, replaced by moans as Thor unexpectedly and ferociously laps at his hole, nicely exposed from his craning position.

Overtaken by lust, Thor is now. He thrusts his fingers into the tight hole with no remorse, growling as the moans of his brother tear through the air. He twists his wrist, adds a third finger. The body beneath trembles at the loss when he removes them, replacing with his tongue again, spit-slick.

But Thor is too impatient, has waited for too long. He spits into his own hand and coats himself.

His brother is dead, body buried under the ravages of Svartelheim’s storms. Somewhere forgotten. Honour intact. This vessel before him is but a reminder, here to save Thor from his own wicked dreams before they consume his mind whole. It is with this sentiment that he pushes in, and his mind burns at the body’s sting. He doesn’t even keep himself from saying the only word he can think of, a bitter taste on his lips:

“ _Loki._ ”

He shudders as he breaches skin further, clawing at paleness and inhaling raven black hair, sweat-damp and wild.

“You _sick—_ ”

But Thor does not care what the vessel thinks, he cannot care about a thing except the tight heat fully stretched around him, balls pressed firmly against the smooth flesh, deep as physically possible. It is so strained, so _tight_. It will be torture to move; _exquisite_ torture. But Thor is mighty, and he would fuck all through what remains of the night until they both spend themselves dry.

While keeping a loose grip on Mjolnir where it rests upon curved spine, Thor runs his other calloused hand all over the smooth, pale skin of Adam’s back; the appealing curve of his buttocks jutting out from the the bed, before trailing his fingers back up to tense shoulders. Fool to instinct as always, his fingers grip Mjolnir a little tighter then, and he removes the hammer completely, thrusting it into mid-air. A test, to see if its victim would attempt an escape.

He does not, so Thor rewards him. The hammer is left forgotten on the floor. One hand carves through dark, mussy hair now, twisting its long length into a knot so that his head is pulled backwards. Thor tears open the already-healing wound of his finger once more with his own teeth, then places it towards Adam’s tongue. Adam sucks it into his mouth, moaning in a depraved and wanton fashion. Bloodlust, _literally_.

As Thor begins to move slowly, the choked sounds beneath him spur on such ardour; and it’s not long before he’s drilling into him with hopeless abandon, fingers now digging marks into the stretched flesh of thin hips, thumbs pushing arse further open so that Thor can see where he slices the vessel in two with his cock.

“Deeper. Fucking _harder_ ,” Adam growls, and Thor is reminded of Loki’s silvertongue, how it had always gotten under his skin. In this way, he had never heard it, but he could imagine that it would be his undoing.

He fucks him harder then, and yet he slows but a moment later, thinking in kinder terms now; watching his cock disappear into the beautiful yielding body of _Loki_ , savouring the sounds and tremble of hips that each movement warrants.

He reaches for the neglected cock pressed into the old bedsheets then, groaning when he finds it already slickened with pre-come. It feels so perfect in his hand that Thor almost _hates_ it; he wonders if this would be how Loki himself would have felt, if he would yield so willingly, spread his legs so widely in pursuit of pleasure had he ever been granted the opportunity of pursuing…

It does not matter. Thor tightens his grip, and then he’s fucking and thrusting with a mindless viciousness that brings the cresting feeling of orgasm to them both.

Lost in the heat of it, he barely notices the creature’s still-bound wrists, arms sprawled lean and tight up the bed, struggling to break apart. Taking pity once more, he takes his hands from cock and hip and breaks the fabric in one effortless snap. The motion is welcomed — if the accompanying groan is anything to go by. Thor smirks as he watches pale fingers stretch out and ball blood-spattered bedsheets with shaking fists, thrusting harder all the while.

And when those familiar fingers trail downwards, in seeming chase of pleasure where Thor is now neglecting, he uses his own thick, calloused digits to wrap around the delicate pale column of Lo—Adam’s throat, which convulses beneath cruel touch. He presses hard and fucks hard, spurred by the choked groans that cannot escape a wicked mouth.

_Can something already dead die twice?_ Hips stutter at the very thought, and heartache boils sudden and hot in Thor’s veins. Only then does he notice that clever fingers are now struggling, grappling at the covers in desperation— as though oxygen or relief could be found _there_.

Thor lets go.

Adam comes in rattled breaths, body tensing like a highly strung instrument, _truly_ beautiful; filled with tragic, unwritten melodies coiled up within, ready to be expertly performed but never to be thoroughly appreciated — not even by any soul who dared _listen_.

The thought claws at Thor’s whole being, as even in this height of passion, his mind sees clearly enough while his hands linger in mid-air —the countless times he'd watched Loki melt under his touch in battle or argument and yet done nothing about it— the regret flooding, suffocating _him_ now that this is the closest he would ever get to rectifying past mistakes.

Hands then clench pale hips so that Thor might breathe again. Gently, he fucks Adam’s orgasm out until it’s bone-dry, and the clenched tightness and continuing, cursed rasps spring climax from Thor too. When right in the midst of his own explosive spend, Thor could swear that he hears the word _brother_ tumbling from shaky lungs, sounding like a distant dream, or a half-remembered song.

But he cannot be certain.

Afterwards, Adam is too exhausted to speak— the darkness of night is beginning to fade, after all. Thor knows of the myths well enough. The poor, wretched soul crawls up the bed, head hitting the pillow. Thor follows obediently.

He smiles at Thor —a simple, broad smile that evokes yet more tendrils up spine with its familiarity— and sweeps stray blonde hairs away once more before cupping Thor’s jaw, fingers loosely caressing the nape of his neck.

Thor cannot help himself then, he closes what little distance remains between them and presses their mouths together. It is a gentle kiss, achingly sweet, and when Thor eventually pulls away, the creature gives a blissful sigh.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, smiling and fluttering his eyes closed, “I needed that, brother mine.”

Thor watches intently as this beautiful creature drifts into sleep. The sun shines in through a faintest slither of unruly curtain. Even with such pitiful amount of light in the room he now looks positively radiant; hair damp and eyes closed, a perfect image to behold. An elegant mess of dark and light, gentle breathing, rosy lips.

_If this is a trick_ , Thor thinks, _then it is the most beautiful of all._

And with each passing moment bringing the cold light of day, he is deeply ashamed.

When the guilt becomes too much to bear, and the last of the alcohol fades from his body, Thor finds his scattered clothes and dresses with haste. Doing so, he notices the gun carelessly left on the floor beside the bed, and wonders how it would feel to take a life that should not be a life. He picks the pistol up, aims just for a second, just to see if it would rouse the creature softly sleeping…

When it doesn’t, he removes the single wooden bullet from the barrel and puts it in his pocket.

_Such beauty will not die on this day._

As he closes the bedroom door, he forbids the vice of looking back. Perhaps tomorrow, then.

**Author's Note:**

> All kinds of feedback welcome, and thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. I also be on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ikoliholic) if you wanna join in on the sporadic blogging funtimez over there.


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